


Decimate my Inhibitions

by Notasmuch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestication, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notasmuch/pseuds/Notasmuch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam thinks that he only wants his brother because deep down, he's evil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decimate my Inhibitions

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains a failed attempt at BDSM and domesticated Winchesters.  
> ETA: *facepalm* I can't believe I warned for the BDSM but not the actual abuse. There's a case involving sexual and pysical abuse of a child, not one of the Winchesters.  
> Also this story was originally posted in early 2010.  
> Beta: opheliahyde @LJ

Michael and Lucifer. Angel and Demon. Good and Evil.

If it was all a part of a greater plan of his destiny, if it was what he was prepared for all his life, how could any part of him be pure and free of evil? Now that it was all over and Castiel had found God, with the apocalypse behind them, the only real reminder of anything having gone so completely and utterly wrong was his brother lying in the hospital, still deadly pale and cracking idiotic jokes... Now was when Sam had time to sit down and think.

He wished he didn't.

All he could do was re-evaluate everything he ever did and attach new meanings to it. Every time he tried to do something with best intentions and had it blow up in his face, every time he made a mistake, now he wondered... were those really mistakes? Did he really have best intentions? Or was it the "other" part of him coming out? The evil that he was made for, pushing aside logic and deciding for him, once and for all?

On a regular day, all these thoughts were just a hum in the background. Some days they never even formed into a real thought, but now... there was nothing left to think about but his failures.

He was always so certain of himself, of the God that made them all equal and gave them the freedom to choose what to be. Even when he found out that there was evil inside him, he was sure he could fight it, but what if he couldn't?

Even though he certainly _believed_ in God now, he didn't have much faith in him anymore. If every thought he ever had, every deed, good or bad, he ever did, what if it was all a part of the plan the evil inside him had all along? Why didn't God care about him then? He looked back and thought of Madison, of Ruby, of Reverend Le Grange and his wife. He wondered if that same evil decided he should go to college, to separate him from his brother, if instead of being "normal" what he really wanted was to not be "good."

He knew, logically, some positive things came out of it all. He knew he lived and his brother lived, and his destiny, whatever it may or may not have been, wasn't fulfilled and probably never would be. He knew God never would have let him live if he was a real danger.

But on a much less _universally important_ scale, he just wasn't sure any more that his feelings and thoughts were objective, or free; he wasn't even sure they were his own.

**

Dean was getting some of his color back, even if most of it was the purple around his lips. Still, every time his eyes closed Sam's heart jumped, a terrified beat of _what if..._

He made sure Dean was really just asleep, that is to say, the nurse stopped indulging his paranoia and walked out, and he sat down next to the bed and just stared. They were both beaten up pretty good in the last, epically pointless, fight with Meg and Lucifer, but Dean got cut up and lost a lot of blood, and then there was internal bleeding, too. In the end, Sam had no idea who had dealt with the insurance and the police, (was it him or Castiel or God himself?) but he remembered with incredible clarity how tired, drained, and used he had felt when they finally let him see his brother, when he touched Dean's hand and thought, _I almost lost you. Again._

He reached out to touch that hand again, but pulled back. It wasn't enough. He wanted to hug his brother and kiss him and beg him to stop with hunting now, to let God and the angels, and other hunters take care of everything and just run away somewhere so they could forget. How could one touch ever be enough.

Sam smiled bitterly, looking at where their pinkies lay side by side. He made peace with the fact that he was a sick fuck a long time ago, because the way he wanted to kiss his brother wasn't brotherly at all. In retrospect, maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to disregard that part of himself, it was probably the most glaringly obvious sign that there were things seriously wrong with him.

Dean wasn't moving and Sam knew it was time for him to go, but he couldn't seem to find the strength to get up. He decided to watch over Dean for a while longer instead.

**

When Dean was released from the hospital, they ran the hell out of town and stayed at a cabin Bobby found for them for almost three months.

Sam found himself enjoying the domesticity of it. While Dean was still too weak to fight if something went wrong, Sam would go to nearby towns and hustle some pool or poker, buy them food, take care of Dean and listen to him complain and whine until something on the TV distracted him. When Dean got better he went with Sam and they hustled together, they ate and joked and shopped and talked and walked together up to the point where he should have had enough of Dean for a lifetime, but he never did.

Even if they both got snippy and filled to the brim with cabin fever, the thought to just spend some time alone rarely came to them. The few times Sam did go out to stare at the vast green on his own, Dean came after him a few minutes later, brought him a beer, and stared silently with him.

If all that calm togetherness wasn't enough to test Sam's sanity, the fact that they were staying for an indefinite but long amount of time meant Dean was hesitant to hit on anyone, which in turn meant he spent more and more time in the shower in the morning. And evening. And sometimes in the afternoon too.

Sam couldn't hear anything from the inside, and spent most of his time trying not to imagine hearing it either, but his shoulders hurt with tension every time Dean came out.

Some time after the first month in the cabin his dreams finally calmed down. Instead of _Apocalypse! Dead-Dean! Killer-Sam!_ , they became mostly the regular boring stuff. Books and bunnies, airplanes, forests and packing. Only two stayed that made him feel queasy the next morning.

In one, he was evil. Not "possessed by Lucifer" evil, but just he, himself, evil. And he killed Dean, saw Dean's blood on his hands. He never went back to sleep after those. Sometimes he would go to check on Dean, to check if he still loved him.

In the other dream he didn't feel evil, and maybe that was the worst part of it. He felt just like he did that night when he went to sleep, but instead of waving him good night, Dean was pushing him against the wall, his tongue in Sam's mouth sloppy and demanding, just like his hand in Sam's pants. Dean's fingers knew just where to touch, how hard to hold and when to twist. Sam kept wanting just a little bit more; wanting, wanting, wanting... and then he would wake up, hard and sweaty, close to orgasm but just not close enough.

When he wrapped his own hand around his erection it was never quite the same, never as good. He would tug a few times and spill into his own hand, but ended up still _wanting._ Sometimes, in that haze between sleep and orgasm, he tried to fall back into that dream and the feelings it stirred up inside him.

He loved living there. Every moment of it. The monotony, the fights, the unending want, the crappy shows that made Dean laugh, the way people sometimes looked at them when they didn't know they were brothers.

He just nodded and started packing when Dean said he was _really_ feeling better and it was time to move on, _don't you think so?_

**

Three months later to the day they left the cabin, Sam was _pissed_. He was dragging his brother's half conscious body from a freezing lake and he was furious.

"What the hell, Dean!?"

He tried putting his brother up on his feet, but he could hardly move them, much less stand on them. "What the actual fucking hell!? Haven't you..."

Dean fell on his back on the pebbly beach and Sam fell over him, his fists clenching the shirt around Dean's neck tight. "Haven't you had enough of this shit!? Are you _trying_ to kill yourself now!?"

He was shouting in Dean's face, but it wasn't until their eyes met that he realized just how close they were. Dean's breath puffed out of his chest and Sam, for just a second, a tiniest moment, breathed it in and closed his eyes, pretended he could feel more. Then he saw Dean was still staring at him, an unfamiliar look on his face, and then he stood up, frustrated over both of them.

He looked out at the lake, where the ghost had disappeared to after he burned the wood that kept her tied to the coast. Granted, the ghost was angry and vicious, but there was no need to jump in after her like she was a fish Dean could just grab hold of and pull out. Sam had it under control and if only Dean had distracted her a while longer...

"I said _distract_ her, not _throw yourself in the freezing lake_."

"It's a common mistake," Dean said, still breathless, and Sam turned back and stared at him because it was a little hard to believe, even knowing Dean for as long as he did, that he was making light of what he just did. It left him speechless long enough for Dean to stumble his way up to his feet and start pulling some weeds off his shirt. He wasn't really meeting Sam's eyes, but that was okay, because Sam wasn't all that eager to do it either.

When they got into their room Sam took his jacket off and dragged a not completely dirty shirt from his duffel. He heard Dean sigh and try to reach out and stop him but Sam was slamming the bathroom door before Dean got his "I wasn't even..." all the way out. He didn't want to hear Dean's version of "I am Dean, hear me roar."

No, he wanted something else tonight.

**

Sam had one power that he never confessed to anyone. He doubted even Yellow Eyed knew about it. It was the power to look at a guy and know that from a certain angle, in a certain light, he would look enough like Dean to feed Sam's fantasies for a limited number of weeks.

With the guy smirking at him from across the bar it was definitely from between his legs.

 _Leather jacket, line of his jaw, eyelashes and hair.  
Low light from top front, to make the lashes look bigger and chin stubbier.  
Three weeks. _

Sam swallowed the last of his beer and nodded towards the back exit. The light would be a problem, it was too exposed, but it was Sam's last night in the town so he really couldn't bring himself to care much.

**

 _Sometimes feeling a little dirty was just what he needed._

Looking up he saw the guy's eyes were closed and that was a good thing, because in the street light it was pretty obvious they were nothing like Dean's. He also smelled nothing like him and the way he held on to Sam's shoulder wasn't what Sam imagined Dean to be like at all.

Sam let his mind wander as his tongue worked the guy. He let himself imagine it was Dean, he reached out to touch the jacket and stared up at the guy's chin. He imagined the moans deeper, the hold on his shoulder tighter, the smell of gunpowder and the Impala.

When he pushed the hand in his jeans he let himself imagine Dean wanting him back. He _let_ his mind go to all those places that he always avoided. It would keep him from trying to touch Dean for three whole weeks. He came with that ridiculous thought in his head, like he got off on his own false righteousness.

The guy shuddered and Sam felt the warmth spread through the condom before he got up and left, wiping his lips and not looking back.

**

Two weeks later it was Dean's birthday. Sam got him a bottle of not completely crappy Whiskey and they drank it together. Or, well, Sam may have had a little more. Just enough to mess with his balance. He stood up and stumbled, leaned on the wall to stay up, and somehow the glass he was holding got smashed between his palm and the wall.

He couldn't really feel the pain, but it was bleeding very interestingly. Dean pushed him into the bathroom and made him sit on the toilet while he bandaged his hand.

Sam looked at the blood as it leaked between his fingers.

"It's all wrong."

Dean was crouching beside him, making sure he got all the glass out. "Yeah, brainiac, it's _cut_.

Sam nodded. "My blood, I mean. All wrong."

Dean looked at him for a second, then pushed his hand under the cold water. "There's nothing wrong with it, except that it's on the wrong side of your skin."

Sam laughed. "I'm all messed up, Dean. You have no idea. You don't even know how much you could hate me."

His brother went very still while he untied the bandage and got a vaguely familiar look on his face that Sam didn't like much. He tried to remember where he last saw it and thought of the night by the lake. A numbing chill went through him. "Do you?"

Dean took his arm and forced it down on Sam's knee but Sam was busy trying to look him in the eyes. _Shit, shit, shit. What if he knows? What if he knows?_

"Dean, do you..."

"You're drunk, Sam. Let it go."

 _He knows. Oh fuck, fucking shit. He knows._ Sam got up just as Dean finished tying up the bandage, and he felt himself going sober and completely dizzy with panic all at once. He tried grabbing Dean's shoulders but he was pushed out of the bathroom instead.

Dean made him sit, then lay down on the bed, and Sam reached out for him one more time. "You know, don't you?"

"I don't know," he finally looked Sam in the eyes. "I don't know anything, and you need to get some sleep." Then he left and Sam felt like crying, because somehow, he'd fucked everything up, and all he was able to do was sleep, hoping he had it all wrong and it would all be magically solved in the morning.

**

Sam woke up with a throbbing in his hand and nausea making its way up to his throat. He didn't want to move, because he didn't want upset his stomach even more, but as soon as he remembered why his hand ached he started panicking and then it was all over. He spent the next half hour hugging the toilet.

Dean laughed at him and mocked, but Sam didn't really care about the words. The only thing he could hear was the desperate "everything is okay" note in Dean's voice. So he spent more time bent over the seat than was perhaps necessary, but at that moment staring at an open grave seemed more appealing than looking up at Dean.

When he got out, Dean was already at the table, eating something greasy and grinning around the half chewed bits in his mouth. He was fully dressed and it made Sam wonder when was the last time he saw Dean without a shirt, or just in boxers, casual. Trying to stop mortal wounds from bleeding out didn't count. He couldn't remember. About a year after Sam came back Dean discovered his modesty.  
He sat across from Dean, not bothering to put his own pants on and finally looked him in the eyes. Dean was still desperate.

"We need to talk, Dean." He had no idea where the bravery was coming from, but he needed to know if his brother thought he was completely disgusting and unredeemable, or if he would let Sam explain that he keeps it under control and would somehow, incredibly, be okay with it as long as Sam never touches or sees him naked.

A flicker of panic showed on Dean's face but he covered it soon with anger. "There's nothing to talk about."

"You know there is." Sam heard the pleading sound in his own voice and hoped some time during the conversation someone would have the guts to say the actual words. It probably wasn't going to be him.

Dean dropped the rest of his hamburger and wiped his fingers on the paper. Sam recognized his "leaving now" moves, and reached out to grab his hand to stop him. He never made contact, but Dean froze none the less.

Sam smiled bitterly. "So you do know."

Dean got up and grabbed his jacket. He was opening the door by the time Sam remembered to ask, "Will you let me explain?"

"What's there to explain?" He was still looking out the door.

"Just that... I handle it. I swear. I would never... you don't have to be afraid of me."

Dean did turn then, looking cocky and offended. Sam almost laughed, but he was too busy trying to stop his heart from choking him. "I am _not_ afraid of you."

Sam nodded. "That's good. Because you shouldn't be." He switched his gaze to Dean's boots and waited. The only thought he could grab hold of was, _so please don't leave me,_ and it really wasn't a very useful one.

"I trust you," Dean said, and as if trying to prove it to himself, he closed the door.

Sam nodded again and sat on his bed with his head low. He heard Dean move and then he needed to know. "You don't want me to go?"

The silence stretched for a long time and he could hear his own heart beating. Dean's boots came into his view again when he sat on the other bed, across from Sam. The _no_ was almost a whisper, but Sam heard it, and the relief was even more numbing than the panic had been.

He nodded again, and he was pretty sure Dean did the same.

They sat in silence for a long time but Sam couldn't make himself say thank you. He didn't think Dean would appreciate it much anyway.

**

It took a while for Sam to stop expecting Dean to change his mind. It also took a while for Dean to stop flinching every time Sam touched him casually. But as far as _ignoring a huge issue_ and _solving emotional problems the Winchester way_ went, it was one of best dealt-with situations Sam could think of.

He did notice the dreams, the nice ones, had stopped when they left the cabin, and even though it was a relief, (he didn't need to wake up like _that_ with Dean in the room) he also missed them and the feeling they gave him sometimes.

Most of the time he was happy. He still had his brother, he still had his control, and every few weeks he had a guy who reminded him of Dean. It was as close to perfect as he was ever likely to get.

But every night before sleep Sam closed his eyes and tried to imagine what a conversation about _it_ would look like. How Dean would react, which words could persuade him to say his own thoughts. Sam wasn't stupid. Even if he could somehow know it wouldn't end in a complete disaster, he wouldn't want to talk about his feelings for Dean like that, but it became his place of comfort. In his head, he always found the best way to say things, and Dean... he replied in full sentences.

**

Sam hated cases that involved children.

Her name was Mathilda and she was eight years old when she died in 1824. The local priest marked it as devil-possession, she wasn't given a proper burial and everyone forgot about her.

They couldn't find any record of how she died, but one look at her explained it. Her face was cut up with three long slices crossing each other. They kept expecting her to pick up a knife, or a razor, and go at them, but as she flickered around them, the only thing she really seemed to do was touch her face a lot and smile. She kept saying, "I'm not beautiful any more."

Even when Dean agreed out loud and Sam got ready to start shooting again, she just smiled wider.

None of her actions helped them understand why there were so many reports of injuries and violent deaths in the cottage.

Then Sam decided he should try talking to her. At first his questions remained unanswered, and then with the right question, like a secret code, she looked at him and talked.

"Why don't you want to be beautiful?"

The girl shuddered. "Then he won't come to me."

"Who won't?"

The girl looked away and Sam could feel Dean getting nervous.

"Mathilda? Who won't come to you?"

Suddenly she seemed too scared to talk to them, and Sam and Dean both followed her gaze. A man stood there, angry and vicious, with his shirt unbuttoned and a belt in his hand.

Dean raised his gun and shot him, and the second he disappeared Sam went up to Mathilda. "Who was that? We can help keep him away from you, but we need to know who he is."

"Uncle Matthew. He tells me I am his beautiful girl, but I am not any more." She looked at Sam like she wanted it confirmed and he nodded. Nausea started to roll in his stomach.

He couldn't say the words though, so he said, "We'll keep you safe, we'll get rid of him," instead.

When they went out of the cottage Dean gave him a worried look. "You know we'll have to burn her body, too, right?"

"Maybe not. If he's gone, maybe she'll be able to just cross over. Or maybe she needs a proper burial."

Dean nodded, but Sam knew when he was being patronized. "We can at least try!"

Dean's answer was lost when he sat in the car and closed the door, but Sam didn't really care, he was going to see if he could help her, and Dean could stand by him or not.

**

Sam tried not to think about why he wanted to help her so much. He _tried_ not to compare her situation to his, because Dean was no helpless eight year old, but the nausea that started when the girl said "uncle" just wouldn't settle. The image of the man, as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside, wouldn't leave his mind. He didn't look directly into a mirror that whole day.

Finding the guy's bones wasn't all that hard, it only took two days and some digging through dirty old files. The problem was, when Matthew burned up and screamed, and finally left for good, Mathilda was still left standing, looking happy and confused and more than a little lost.

Sam crouched down by her and told her it was okay, she could get some peace now, but she kept rubbing her hands on her skirt nervously and looking around, like she wasn't sure what to do next.

Dean was still on his way from the graveyard, all their stuff packed and ready to go, because sticking around after they set graves on fire was rarely a good idea, but the cottage was isolated enough they could spend as much time as they were needed there. Sam would only burn her bones if he absolutely had to.

When Dean came in, Sam was on the floor, talking to an empty room. He could feel Mathilda somewhere around. He knew she was listening to him, but she wasn't showing herself anymore. He told her she was safe, she didn't have to be afraid, that no one would hurt her. He told her he absolutely knew there was a Heaven for people like her and she would be happy there. When he ran out of things to say about her, he told her about his mom, how he missed her, how he knew she was waiting for him.

He didn't tell her how disappointed his mom would be if she knew how messed up he was on the inside. How much he hoped she never found out.

Dean sat on a chair across from him and listened, cleaning his favorite gun. It was already clean and Sam knew a nervous Dean when he saw one, but he didn't want to give up. When he started talking about John, Dean's stare became less than friendly, but Sam glared right back.

Just as Dean was about to say something, Mathilda appeared again. "Father would hate me."

Dean sat up straight but Sam ignored him. "Why do you think that?"

"What I did... it was evil."

The choice of word cut into Sam's heart. He wanted to scream, but he just got up on his knees instead and cleared his throat. "You did nothing wrong. Your uncle did, and your dad knows that and loves you. I promise you."

Mathilda looked unsure so Sam went on. "I promised we'd get rid of your uncle, didn't I? And I kept that promise. And now I promise you this. Your Dad loves you, and misses you."

He knew he won before she even spoke, when a pale light began to appear at the door. "I trust you," she said, and looked towards the light.

Sam saw Dean look that way too and knew the last time Dean saw that light, nothing good happened. Sam walked behind Mathilda and stopped when he reached Dean. He stood as close as possible without actually letting Dean know he was being comforted, and hoped his brother would notice he wasn't alone. Dean's knee bumped into his leg when Mathilda turned to wave at them.

She went through, and then the light was gone. Dean got up and started gathering their things but when Sam looked at him he seemed calmer, less like he was about to jump from his own skin. When Sam smiled at him victoriously, Dean just rolled his eyes, but he patted and squeezed Sam's shoulder when they were finally outside again.

**

Two days later, in another motel and between cases, Sam still couldn't get Matthew's face out of his mind. Every line in it had been etched there by cruelty and evil, and Sam had to wonder if some day someone would recognize the same in him. When Dean knocked on the bathroom door, Sam didn't even look away from the mirror before he answered.

Whatever Dean wanted to say died when he opened the door. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He finally looked away from the mirror and Dean's smile was a little bit strained.

"You are the prettiest princess in the whole land, Sammy."

Sam punched his shoulder and pushed him a bit to get out.

When Dean, half an hour later, came out of the bathroom, Sam must have still looked worried because while Dean was putting his jacket on he asked Sam if he was okay, like this time maybe he didn't know the answer.

"Do you think she's okay?"

"Who?" Dean found his keys and was looking for whatever money they had around.

"Mathilda."

He finally stopped and really looked at Sam. "Yeah. She's a kid, they always go to Heaven, right?"

Sam nodded, even though what he really meant was _Do you think she forgot what he did to her?_ and continued scrolling through news articles, looking for something interesting.

Dean was at the door, ready to go out when he stopped patting his hands all over the jacket.

"Sam, you know you're not..."

Sam heard Dean speak and looked up, but by then his brother was already opening the door.

"What?"

"Nothing. I need some food, you want something?"

"Yeah, cheeseburger and fries."

Dean wouldn't look him in the eyes again and practically ran out of the room.

**

For a bit over a week after that, Dean kept refusing every case Sam found, even though they moved around every few days.

He spent his days distracting Sam from asking too many questions and his nights going out and picking up random women. Sam knew, because Dean seemed to be flaunting it. He never before came to the room smelling and looking like he fell into a puddle of perfume and make up, but suddenly it seemed impossible for him to not get lipstick all over his face.

It wasn't that Sam was jealous, that was something he was used to, the slow burn in his stomach. He learned to control it ages ago. It was that Dean's behavior was unusual, and Sam had no idea why it was happening.

This night he decided to spend his time looking for the best case he could find, and order Dean to get back in line.

Normally, Dean was back by midnight, but in the past week his comings and goings got more erratic, and this time it was well past four when he finally slammed _into_ the door. He wasn't covered in make up, and the smell around him definitely wasn't perfume. It was beer and whiskey and second hand smoke.

Sam closed the laptop and stood up, feeling the pressure of worry and sleepless night pound in his head. "Where the hell have you been, I..."

Dean walked, stumbled, towards him and with his hands twisted in Sam's shirt, pushed him all the way to the wall. Then he leaned in. Too close, breathing on Sam's chin and tilting his head up. Sam felt his stomach twist and his arms fail at pushing Dean away. _He should know better than to be so close, he should move, run..._

Dean pressed his lips to Sam's chin, then moved up sloppily, until Sam's lower lip was between his. Sam froze. He forgot to breathe, forgot to even taste what Dean was giving as the kiss continued. He felt a whimper forming in his throat, wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or scream. He pushed Dean away at his shoulders, but Dean just leaned his forehead on Sam's collarbone.

"What are you doing?" Sam was breathless and hurting all over, and he just wanted Dean to stop whatever the fuck he thought he was playing at.

"I want." He could barely hear Dean with his face against Sam's shirt, but a press of hand against his stomach told him more than Dean's words could anyway.

"No, Dean. I want. Not you. You're just drunk and stupid."

Dean shook his head. "No, no. I do. I want it, too."

Sam snorted and started moving Dean towards the bed. He took his boots off and tried to ignore the way his brother's fingers threaded through his hair the whole time. "Stop it."

"But I want."

Sam pushed him back on the bed. "Tell me that when you're sober."

"I can't," he whispered, and Sam finally really looked at him. Dean seemed lost and scared. "I can't, Sammy."

Sam leaned down and pressed his lips against Dean's temple. Strong fingers grabbed his shoulders for a moment but Sam pried them away. "Sleep. It's gonna be okay in the morning." _You'll forget about it in the morning._

Dean closed his eyes and fell asleep.

**

Sam was still sitting on his bed, playing the scene over and over in his head, trying to forget how his brother tasted, several hours later when Dean started moving around.

He grabbed his jacket and went out. If Dean asked, he would say he was getting breakfast.

When he came back, Dean was sitting on his bed, like he was waiting, and Sam remembered that he really hated how they arranged their lives so they could never be alone without a reason.

"I brought you something extra greasy to help you recover." Sam cracked a strained smile and dropped the bag on the table.

Dean didn't say anything, or look at him properly, so he tried to think of something to distract himself from the tension in the room. His laptop was on the bed and he had to get past Dean to get to it. He just wasn't really sure he wanted to get too close to Dean at the moment.

When Dean suddenly stood up, Sam took a surprised step back, but calmed down before he could actually run away. Which he suddenly really wanted to do.

He stood still as Dean took tiny steps towards him. When he stopped, entirely too close to Sam for comfort, Sam was about to take another step back. Then Dean head-butted him.

Sam felt his lip scrape on his tooth and the sharp taste of blood. He pressed his palm against the lip and mumbled, "What the fuck?", when he finally looked at Dean.

He was staring at Sam in shock and biting his lip like... like he was trying not to laugh. Sam moved his hand and licked his lip to make sure he wasn't bleeding. "What was that for?"

"I missed."

Sam blinked. "What?"

Dean started shaking and soon he was doubled over, laughing his ass off while Sam stared at him worriedly. "I..." He took a deep breath and chuckled a few more times, then his face turned serious again and he finally looked at Sam. "I missed. I guess I have better moves when I'm drunk."

When Sam got it he finally took that step back, and then a few more. "No," he shook his head. "I know you did some stupid stuff for me in life, but not this. I don't need it, okay? I manage just fine..."

Dean rolled his eyes and put his hand up to shut him up. "Do you think I'm some kind of selfless victim here? You gonna send me to a self-defense course?"

Sam thought that might not be a bad idea. Dean rubbed his neck and shifted nervously. "I know what I want."

Sam wanted to laugh. "And you want me?" he said, the sarcasm was thick in his voice and as always, it annoyed Dean just enough to put him on the offense.

"Yeah. Yeah I want you. What? I'm not allowed to?" He looked like he was daring Sam to agree and that was just too much. He giggled like a crazy person, before he could stop himself.

When he heard it, Dean seemed to be caught between panic and anger, and Sam knew that look. He was intimately familiar with the feelings that caused it. Whatever else might be going on, Dean was definitely not lying.

Sam came closer. He knew it wasn't fair, it was his turn, by anyone's mathematics, to do something, but he couldn't. So he waited. Dean seemed to understand, because he didn't question Sam or move away. He leaned in closer and kissed him.

Sam exhaled quickly and pressed his palm against Dean's shoulders. Not pushing him away, but stopping him. "Please," Sam muttered against Dean's lips. "Please don't do anything you don't want to. I'd rather you never look at me again than..."

Dean's fingers tugged on his hair, and Sam was done being noble, done trying to be the bigger man. He tilted his head and kissed back.

It was so much better than anything he had imagined before. Dean's lips weren't open and pliant, they were demanding and needy, and Sam had to bite into a soft curve of them to calm him down. They both moaned when Sam's hands cupped Dean's face.

They were clinging to each other in a way that had nothing to do with kissing, and everything to do with fear of losing each other. When Sam realized that, he laughed silently and broke the kiss, but stayed close enough to feel Dean's breath on his lips. "Yeah. I'm not going anywhere."

The fist in his hair relaxed a bit and Dean nodded. "Good. Me neither."

Sam smiled and let his fingers caress Dean's face instead of holding him captive. The next kiss was softer, giving, and when it was done, they were both smiling.

**

The last time Sam tried to take it slow he waited three whole days before he slept with Jess, and then she was the one who looked like she didn't know what the holdup was. It was hard to explain, when faking a life you never had, how life on the road made a quality relationship impossible. He knew that from the few crushes he had had, and the many one night stands and fake romances he had seen Dean go through.

So when Sam pulled away after that first real kiss with Dean, adrenaline rushing and his lips still tingling, he didn't expect his first thought to be, _Shit. He's not gonna want to have sex now, is he?_ , but it was.

He looked at Dean and saw him glance nervously at the bed and then out the window, and Sam thought he felt the same way.

"Maybe we should take it slow."

Dean stopped looking for an escape and smirked, obviously going for something sarcastic and witty, but then he changed his mind and just nodded.

When Sam moved back closer, Dean seemed surprised for a moment but then he leaned in, almost relaxed, and they kissed. For about half an hour.

**

It was new and surprising from so many different aspects that Sam barely had time to think if what they were doing was horribly unnatural and if God would end up killing them before they had time to move it forward.

Barely.

The rides were long, and the men's toilets on gas tanks were lowly lit and smelled like shit and were perfect for introspection and deep thought. Sam tried not to look into that part of his psyche too deeply, because the last time he did that he was also in a rank toilet and there was a guy talking about hemorrhoids in the first stall. It was a vicious loop.

Except for those few times a day, Sam spent most of his time being surprised and horny. The biggest surprise was that the fact that he could put his tongue in Dean's mouth now, didn't make Dean any less annoying.

He still played the music way too loud and liked to chew with his mouth open when Sam was watching. He still acted like Sam needed his hand held to cross the road and reminded him five times to do something Sam had learned he had to do when he was twelve.

Sam also had no sudden desire to hold Dean's hand while they drove, or lay his head gently on Dean's shoulder. He wasn't sure if he should worry about that.

It wasn't until Dean took his shirt off a few days later that Sam realized some, less than obvious, things _had_ started changing.

While Dean was sniffing his way to a clean shirt Sam sat back and looked, and when Dean turned around Sam didn't have to flinch and look away, he could let Dean know that he appreciated the view. Dean just rolled his eyes and said, "Like you've never seen me without a shirt before."

"I could never look before."

Dean thought about it for a moment, then came closer and tugged on the collar of Sam's shirt. Sam stood up and took his own shirt off. There was a ridiculous moment of neither of them moving, just staring at each other like they really never did that before, and then Dean reached out (if his hand was shaking, Sam wasn't about to say anything) and touched his stomach.

Sam wanted to clench his muscles, but he managed to stop himself. It wasn't like Dean needed proof that Sam was strong. His muscles did flutter though and Dean looked up, as if to see if it was okay. Sam had to lean in and kiss him.

The room was quiet and he could hear every sound between them while they kissed. The sloppy noise their lips made when they broke each kiss, the wisp of their hands over each others arms, and the loud exhale when they finally stood together, skin against skin.

Dean's hands on Sam were greedy and he knew his were the same. He didn't think he could get enough as his fingers stroked Dean's back, scratched at his neck and dipped under the top of the jeans. Dean traced his spine, the muscles over his shoulder blades, the sensitive spot at the bottom of his back and he was the first to move the kisses lower, down Sam's chin and neck, warm and wet with a scrape of stubble. Sam moaned and threw his head back for a minute, before he had to return the favor.

Dean let him bite and mark as much as he wanted to, he just groaned every time Sam bit in and tugged on Sam's hair when it got to be too much. They fell on the bed awkwardly and Dean almost kneed his balls, but then they realigned again, legs entwined and hands all over each other.

Sam was on his back, and he just looked up to see how far Dean wanted to take this, when Dean pressed his cock against Sam's and he ended up inhaling and arching to push back. "Fuck, Dean!"

He felt a grin press into his shoulder and he slid his hands down Dean's back, cupping his ass and pressing him closer. The denim was uncomfortable and restraining and they would have to lose it soon but for a moment it was perfect. The pressure, the heat, and the breathy moans Dean was pushing into his skin, but most of all the knowledge that it was Dean, his skin against Sam's, his cock just a button away.

Sam moved one of his legs up, made it just a bit more comfortable and Dean's fingers tangled into his hair again. When Dean pulled on it, Sam's leg went even higher up. Then Dean was pressing up against his balls and it was perfect despite the pain, or maybe because of it. He grabbed Dean's ass tighter and held him closer, and by the sound Dean made he knew they were both in pain, but stopping wasn't an option any more.

They were sweating and grinding, and Sam heard himself say Dean's name and curse, but he couldn't feel his lips moving, just the wet breath against his neck and the pull on his hair, and the wonderful aching pressure in his balls. He came like a teenager, quickly and in his jeans, and Dean didn't take much longer which was good, because once the pleasure was gone all that was left was the pain.

Sam didn't mind much, because he got to see Dean's face when his hips finally stuttered and he spilled into his own pants. His teeth clenched on Sam's name, pushed it out between them like he was fighting, and then he went lax, like finally winning the battle. _Or losing_ , Sam tried not to think.

He petted Dean's head and Dean's fists finally pulled out of his hair. Dean slid to the side, then on his back, but close enough to touch. They both flinched when their cocks finally got some space.

The silence that settled around them was awkward but not necessarily bad, yet. Dean broke it. "Fuck."

"Yeah." Sam moved his fingers so they touched Dean's arm and turned his head enough to see. "Are we okay?"

Dean thought about it for a long while, and Sam wondered if he was the only one who felt like this was the thing that finally marked the change. All the kissing and random touches, it could all be denied some day, if they wanted it to be, but this... there was no denying this.

"It's not like we ever had a normal life, right?" Dean shrugged and looked hopeful, like he wanted Sam to confirm.

"Yeah, well, I always thought _I_ was the freak."

Dean smiled. "I told you, we're both freaks."

**

So for everything that stayed the same, there was something that changed, and Sam found himself recognizing the differences and patterns, putting them together like facts for a case.

Like when Dean started yelling at him because of, supposedly, pie and illegible writing and throwing dirty papers on the back seat of the car, as if Dean himself never did it. It took Sam less than a week to realize that it always happened after some waitress flirted with Dean, and he flirted back. So the next time Dean started ranting Sam just smiled and kissed him and smiled some more. Dean frowned and grabbed the wheel tighter, then threw confused glances at Sam like he knew something was up but wasn't sure what, but he stopped raging, and Sam leaned back and relaxed. Let him figure it out on his own.

Really, Sam _was_ the jealous type, but there were three things he knew better than he knew his Latin.

One, Dean flirted. He flirted with everything and everyone and yeah, sometimes, before, it was with intent to have sex, but sometimes it got him other things he wanted. Like extra slice of pie, or a better deal on a car part.

Two, Dean hasn't been with anyone since the thing with Sam started. The same loyalty he had for Sam in every other aspect of life, he now transferred to their new relationship. For Dean, that was the highest of commitments.

And three, and possibly the most relevant of all the facts, he knew the sure way to push Dean out, to give his fears a reason to grab and throw in Sam's face, was to try and twist Dean's hand, restrict him in any way, demand something that Dean wouldn't admit to wanting to give.

So instead of pushing the waitress away and making out with Dean in front of the entire diner, Sam stuffed his face with potatoes and ignored them, and took his revenge in shutting Dean up with the kiss. It was lame, but it worked.

Another thing that changed was that Dean, just like Sam, learned to reach out and touch.

Sam had spent a lot of time keeping himself in check. Making sure he didn't touch Dean when he wanted or the way he wanted. It wasn't hard, he started doing it when he was seventeen and it had been second nature for a long time. It was harder, as it turned out, to take what he wanted.

It wasn't a surprise that Dean was the first to break that barrier, and take it too far.

Dean never learned to look with his eyes alone. It started with his knee pressing against Sam's under the table while they ate, and continued with Sam waking up to find Dean playing with his hair, and culminated with Dean walking up to him and kissing him in front of _everyone_ in the gas stop. Granted there was only one person there, and she seemed completely bored by their exchange, but Sam's brain stopped and his heart exploded in fear.

"What the hell, Dean?" He whispered through his teeth and stepped back.

Dean looked a mix between amused and hurt, and Sam had to step back and re-evaluate.

"This isn't funny."

"It is for me." Dean gave him a wide a grin and picked up their lunch, winking at the woman behind the counter.

When they were back on the road Sam had to force himself to stay logical, even though all the fears he pushed deep inside threatened to overwhelm him. "We're breaking the law. What we're doing is _wrong_. Even you have to know that."

Dean looked at him, mouth full of chocolate and peanuts. "No one knows we're brothers."

"It doesn't matter, we can't just... people could remember us, we're drawing attention..."

He wasn't sure what he sounded like but Dean slowed down and reached out, put his hand on Sam's neck, trying to calm him down. "Sam. Sammy." He looked away from the road.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment and tried to find a thought that wasn't panic.

"It's okay."

Sam looked at him. "No, it's not."

Dean's hand slid from his neck slowly.

"There are laws against this."

"There are laws against setting graves on fire, too."

Sam leaned back and closed his eyes again. "It's not okay."

"What isn't?" There was an edge to Dean's voice and Sam knew all it would take was one little lie and everything would be all right. But...

"This. What we're doing. It's not okay. You know that."

He saw Dean grit his teeth and knew his brother was getting ready for a fight. He didn't want that.

"Don't you ever think that this, us, together, was maybe a part of the plan? Like maybe what we feel isn't real? I mean, do you know what the chances are of incest being consensual? Of no one feeling pressured? Of both... people, feeling the same way about each other? Especially with both of us being... men."

"No idea." Dean's voice was dry, like he didn't much care about the answer anyway.

"None! There is no chance of that happening."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Really? And what are the chances of someone dying and then coming back to life because the fucking angels wanted to make a deal with them?"

"My point exactly!" Sam leaned in, closer to Dean, unsure of what he was really trying to do. "That was a part of the plan, and what if this is too? What if we were meant to be even closer, or if it's just something I carry in me, like the blood, and you're just... confused?"

Dean glared at him then and slammed on the break so hard Sam almost fell out of the seat. "Don't tell me I don't feel how I feel, okay? If I didn't," he swallowed, like some words were harder for him to say, too. "If I didn't want you, I wouldn't have fought with it for the past ten years. Trust me, my life would have been hell of a lot easier if that were true."

His words hit Sam like a punch, because while he never doubted Dean's emotions, hearing them thrown out so bluntly, but not carelessly, was more than a little overwhelming.

Dean started the car again, and after a minute tapped his fingers on the wheel. "And what if it is?"

"Is what?" His brain was still too busy processing Dean's statement to think of anything else.

"What if it is just a part of the plan? Would you try to change it?"

It was the question Sam had been asking himself from day one, from the first time he knew Dean _wanted_ to kiss him.

He knew the silence was too long, but for all he spent weeks trying to find the answer, he still wasn't sure. "It never made me feel good."

"What?" Dean was frowning and Sam knew he misunderstood.

"Wanting you. You know how, when you meet someone, and you like them, or in your case, you want to sleep with them, there's this good, happy feeling about it. Like something awesome is about to happen."

"Yeah. Sex."

Sam smiled. "Yeah, sure. Well, I never had that good feeling when I thought of you, like that. Not before anyway."

"And now?"

Sam thought back to that day he watched Dean change his clothes without shame. "Now I do."

"That's good."

"Yeah. It is."

It was the closest he could get to answering the real question Dean had asked. He still wasn't sure he wouldn't rather be normal, but what he had now, it made him happy.

"And I've been with guys before." Dean's voice was petulant, it made Sam want to laugh.

"Yeah, I know. Me too."

Dean nodded and shifted uncomfortably, in a way that made Sam wonder how much Dean really knew about his excursions.

"And now there's sex in our relationship too." Dean grinned, and Sam knew a diversion when he heard one.

"That just makes it awesome."

And again Dean smiled, like he didn't understand sarcasm at all, but this time Sam was perfectly okay with it.

**

Next morning Sam woke up with fries up his nose and Dean smiling maniacally into his phone.

"I thought we agreed we weren't gonna do this any more." He said when he finally rubbed his face clean.

"Do what?" Dean's "fake-innocence" face always succeeded at irritating Sam faster than anything in the world could.

"Fine."

Dean blinked. Sam rolled his eyes. It was on.

**

It was a strange discordance, between his internal monologues, so negative and depressing, the hunting, always tiring, dangerous and sad; and the giddy happiness and liberty of their new relationship. Balancing between the two opposites all day long sometimes wore him out.

Some mornings he woke up from dreams in which Dean hated him for making him, forcing him, into what they had, and when he opened his eyes Dean would be there, waking Sam up just to rub against him, because _he_ woke up hard.

Except for that one morning when Sam woke up first, and Dean didn't talk to him until the pink washed out of his hair.

But even that day Sam couldn't relax, because he spent the whole time laughing at Dean and knowing, _knowing_ , Dean wasn't really mad at him and everything would be back to normal soon.

Normal had a whole other meaning than it used to.

Because one night it became normal to push his hand into Dean's pants, feel his brother's length on his palm and feel him come on Sam's fingers.

Two days later normal was going to sleep with Dean's hand on his stomach.

Then taking Dean's pants off, kissing his navel, and opening his mouth for him became normal.

It seemed every day something new, something more, would happen, and Sam's bursts of panic would be silenced by the pleasure he found in exploring the novelty.

Sam wasn't sure how long it could go on like that.

Other than cases where one of them got shot or possessed, Sam hated cases where he got wet the most. It was never just water. It was always with mud and ice cold, and something possibly alive tickling him in places nothing should ever tickle in.

Every time that happened, he started thinking what it would be like if he did live to be really old. The incredible amount of illnesses he would have. Rheumatism, osteoporosis, arthritis, spasms... Sam only Googled those once. They didn't sound fun.

He was peeling the grass from his shoulders in front of the bathroom mirror when Dean stepped out of the shower.

"So fast?" Sam looked back and almost swallowed his tongue. Dean was standing in front of him, naked and wet. And waiting. "Um."

"Yeah." He came so close Sam could feel the warmth of his body on his cold skin and kissed him quickly. "I'll wait for you."

Sam watched him go to the room and flop on the bed, turning the TV on, still completely naked and careless. It wasn't new, but it was different.

He almost cracked his head taking his jeans off and jumping under the shower.

When he dried himself, he took a peek at the room and saw Dean still lying on the bed. He was half hard all the way through the shower and the view really didn't help. He fingered the towel, wondering if he should be so obvious. _Ridiculous._

"If you're just gonna stand there I _will_ start without you." Dean's hand drifted over his cock and that got Sam moving more than the words did. Some day he wouldn't mind spending an hour or two just watching Dean touch himself. This was not that day.

Before he could even reach the bed, Dean sat up and pulled him down on the bed, biting his lips, then kissing the sting away. Sam groaned and wrapped his fingers around Dean's nape, held him close.

He felt like he was running out of breath when Dean settled on top of him, their cocks pressed against each other, and Dean wouldn't let him breathe, kept his mouth busy.

Then it all slowed down. The kisses became gentler, the touches exploring instead of grabbing. When Dean's hand slid down to his hip, Sam's legs moved to let his brother between and it felt so right. All the shame and guilt and the semi-answered questions disappeared for a while and all he could feel was Dean. Everything he wanted, at the tip of his fingers.

He tilted his head up when Dean's kisses moved down his throat, and explored the scars on his back until Dean's prickly chin scratched his nipple. Then he moaned and looked down to meet Dean's eyes. They were both smirking when Dean bit him, but Sam gave up first and arched into the sharp sensation soon.

Dean's lips left wet trails over his ribs and Sam had to remember to breathe. He ran his fingers through his brother's hair and smiled as the sharp tips tickled his palm. He ran his arm down to the elbow over the spikes and Dean bit his hip sharply in retaliation. Before he knew it he was laughing and choking on it. He knew sex with Dean would be like that.

And then it was unbearable because Dean nipped a path down his hip and so close to his cock but then he just pushed one of Sam's legs wider and licked the inside of his thigh, brushing against his balls casually. Sam wanted to tug his hair and pull him closer but it was impossible so he was left with grabbing the sheets and arching into the touch instead.

When Dean moved back up his body all Sam could think about was that it wasn't enough. He had been starving his whole life and for weeks now he's been getting nothing but bits and pieces. And now finally he was ready for everything. He kissed Dean brutally and flipped them around.

He couldn't wait, didn't want to take time. He grabbed the lube and fumbled with it when Dean pulled him in for another kiss. Then he sat up and shook his head when Dean tried to touch him.

"It'll be over too fast."

Dean smirked but Sam just batted his hand away. Next he head was Dean choking on air when Sam stretched to open himself up.

"Fuck, Sammy."

It was so dirty, the nickname that was always their own, something his big brother gave to him. A bolt of shame rushed through him but with his fingers in his ass and his cock rubbing against Dean's belly it somehow just added to the pleasure.  
He moaned and slid another finger in and then he felt Dean's fingers join, touch the rim and press behind his balls. He was as ready as he could be.

Sam knelt over Dean, pulled the condom on him and stroked twice before leaning back. It took a few tries, slippery and needy, but then Dean was pushing inside. Sam forced himself to relax, it had been a while. He finally looked down at Dean, his lip bitten red and his face scrunched in concentration. Sam rolled his hips and Dean closed his eyes and moaned. It was an amazing power to have.

When Dean was all the way in, Sam placed a hand on his stomach to keep him from moving for a moment, just as Dean's hands grabbed Sam's arms to keep him steady.

"Yeah." Sam wasn't sure what he was agreeing to, just that it was the right thing to do.

Dean finally calmed down enough that he could look at Sam, and Sam wanted to kiss him. But he couldn't, not without a lot of moving and... that really wasn't a bad idea at all. Dean moaned loudly when Sam bent down to kiss him and his hips snapped up quickly, pushing him deeper in. The kiss ended up more as a bite when they both started moving together, with no rhythm or coordination at all.

They had spent days getting to know each other's bodies, the places that could make them moan and giggle and squirm if touched. It didn't matter at all. They ended up grabbing each other by the shoulder, the neck, an arm. Dean's fingers bit into Sam's knee until it was almost uncomfortable but even that was good, even that meant that they were actually there.

Sam found himself moving slower, letting Dean almost all the way out before taking him back in. The feeling of Dean's cock, opening him up, teasing him and then going so deep, it made him needy and desperate.

He felt Dean shift under him, brace himself and start fucking faster. He saw the sweat on his brother's face and chest. He heard him moan and pant and bite out Sam's name like he didn't have anything else to say. He knew, in that moment, Dean was looking at him the same way, as a lover. That thought, followed closely by "brother" was the end of him, he dropped his head on Dean's shoulder and moved faster, chasing that perfect feeling, and then Dean's hand wrapped around his cock, sliding on their sweat and precome and Sam bit into Dean's arm, hard, until the fingers stroking him became brutal and he came between them with a moan and a whisper of his brother's name.

He managed to hold himself up just enough to see Dean's face relax and his breath catch and then he felt him coming. His brother. Inside.

Then he dropped most of his weight on Dean, knowing he could take it, and let Dean stroke his back until it was all right again.

Sam opened his eyes when Dean slipped out. He rolled over but stayed close, blinking at the ceiling. He heard the sound of the condom being taken off, felt Dean get off the bed and clean him up much too gently. Sam looked at him when he came back from the bathroom again. He seemed worried.

"What's wrong?" Sam reached out and tugged on Dean's hand, until he spread out next to him.

"Feels official."

Sam laughed and kissed Dean's frown away.

**

In the days that followed, Sam tried to forget that he was worried. Tried to grow comfortable with what they did, who they were. Switching from brothers when outside to lovers when inside so seamlessly.

It really wasn't that hard. Their lives were almost in a protective bubble. Hunting, food, motels, sex, research, more hunting... The real world was somewhere out there, judgmental and moral, but they had their own rules. Maybe this bubble wasn't perfect, maybe Sam didn't want to be hunting, and maybe he didn't want to _want_ to have sex with his brother, or love him the way he did, but while he couldn't un-feel, he _could_ steal himself bits and pieces of happiness.

That is, until Dean, watching TV half-naked again, said, "Bobby says you're not answering his calls." And just like that, the entire world was trying to fit into their bubble, breaking it open.

Dean was looking at him curiously, almost carefully. Sam shrugged. "I keep forgetting."

"Sam." There were so many questions in that one word that Sam didn't even know how to start answering them.

He said nothing instead, and when his brother let it go, Sam knew for sure, Dean was terrified too.

**

The first time it happened it was an accident.

It really was, because Dean liked his sex slow and mellow. When Sam was leading the game, he always used his teeth and nails, and pushed for harder and faster. When it was Dean's turn, the sex was always slow, deep and thorough, lasting until Sam had to grit his teeth not to beg and sometimes even that didn't help.

So the first time Dean pressed Sam's wrists into the bed was really an accident. Maybe brought on by the new unspoken tension between them, maybe just shift of balance, but for a second Sam felt like Dean held him down, like if Sam tried to get away Dean wouldn't let him.

It made the forever worried, always panicking, part of him say _oh_ and relax. Sam came when he felt the muscles high up on his back let loose like they haven't in years.

Dean didn't seem to notice the reason, he was just happy about the orgasms.

**

The case they were on demanded way too much research. It was a really big family, fifteen of them living together, all found dead in 1912. The local cops never found out who did it. Sam hated cases like that. Children weren't supposed to die.

The research, though, the smell of libraries and the feel of his ass getting numb as he went through articles, compared information, looked at photos and sketches: he loved that.

Dean was sitting across from Sam, looking at the folder of articles Sam put in front of him, but every few minutes he would stop to stare out the window, like a schoolboy in detention. If he noticed Sam watching, he would turn back, smile sheepishly and go back to reading.

When Dean's foot touched Sam's ankle it didn't really register at first, but then it started moving and being distracting so Sam looked up to see what the problem was. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the way Dean was biting his lip. "Dean," his voice was more a moan than letters, but it wasn't like Dean would have stopped anyway.

Sam swallowed his tongue when the foot moved up, over his calf and between his knees. Then he felt something scratch his leg through the jeans.

"Dean. Are you wearing your boots?"

His brother's happy smile confirmed it before he ever said yes.

"Pretty sure you're not supposed to do _that_ with your boots on."

"I'm not gonna take them off in a library, Sammy, what's wrong with you?" Dean had that expression that said Sam was somehow the unreasonable one here. Sam went back to reading.

"Sam?"

He sighed. "Yes?"

"What do you want for your birthday?"

"My birthday was two months ago."

"Yeah, but we were on a hunt and you forgot and I was broke... but after this one, we have some money, and some time, we can do what ever we want. Almost."

Sam opened his mouth to say whatever, because he knew things he really wanted weren't on the plate, but then he remembered the thought that's been bugging him ever since the morning Dean pushed him down.

"I want you to tie me up."

Dean blinked. "What?"

"Tie me up. During sex. With a... well, something that wouldn't chafe, but strong. I was thinking maybe handcuffs, but I'm not sure."

Dean was still staring. Sam knew he was using his business voice, but he was currently involved in a sexual relationship with his brother, he was _not_ going to be prudish about some light bondage. Or not so light.

Dean recovered pretty quickly and flashed his 'big brother' smile. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, I had no idea you were that kinky."

Sam rolled his eyes. It was a familiar game, his brother was embarrassed, he was teasing, and Sam had to get him back on the right track. This time the stakes seemed higher than normal. Sam _wanted_ that relaxed feeling back.

"So will you do it?"

"It's your birthday, Sammy, you can get whatever you want."

Sam thought about what else he could throw in, the stuff he saw online and how much better he would feel if Dean did some of those things. If Sam just... had no responsibility at all. But he would save that for later. Maybe Dean would be okay with the bondage and Sam could throw more in later.

"Great. That's what I want."

Dean seemed pensive. Way too pensive for what Sam needed so he just stretched his own leg out, knowing it would distract Dean.

**

The hunt was over, there was no new one on the horizon yet, and they had the motel room for another day. It was no accident, sometimes Dean's planning was impeccable.

Like when he pulled out a pink silky scarf and Sam almost choked on a bean. He wasn't really sure if he was turned on, embarrassed, or just wanting to punch Dean.

He glared and Dean grinned. It was a standoff.

"No."

"Come on, you know pink brings out the color of your eyes."

"You'd know."

Dean frowned and threw the pink one away. "Fine, but that's really closed minded of you, liberal boy."

Sam rolled his eyes. He didn't mind pink. He just knew exactly why Dean bought it.

"But you're in luck, silk isn't good for you anyway."

That was new. "What?"

"Yeah," Dean was sitting on the bed now, rummaging through the duffle, "silk isn't good for that stuff. I bought this instead. It's made especially for that." He pulled out a fistful of rope but didn't pull it all out. "Normally you should get leather wrist cuffs and stuff, but..." He shrugged, and Sam took that to mean _"Cuffs are permanent and we're only doing this once."_

He nodded and chewed on his salad.

Dean stood up and nodded too, the rope spilling from his hand.

It was awkward.

**

Sam thought he could feel Dean's hands shaking, but he wasn't sure if it was because he didn't know what he was doing, or because Sam was naked. It felt good to have that kind of effect on someone.

Dean's hands were gentle when they pulled his arm up, and he barely felt the rope bound around his wrist. Dean looped it through the holes in the ugly headboard, but when Sam tugged, it had too much give. Not what he wanted. When he told Dean, his brother frowned, but pulled tighter. Then both his arms were tied, stretched up and to the side, barely mobile, just like he wanted.

Except that his body wasn't getting the memo. It didn't relax like it should have, he didn't feel free like he thought he would. He needed his brother to do something.

Dean sat on the bed next to him and... slumped. He was still wearing his clothes and Sam wanted the something to happen soon because, well, he wasn't hard, at all, and Dean would notice any moment and not be happy.

If Dean noticed, he didn't say anything. He just leaned in and kissed him, deep and controlling, and when he sucked on Sam's tongue, he finally felt his cock twitch.

Dean's hand slid between his thighs and teased by touching him everywhere but where he wanted. When Dean's hand finally settled over his cock, he was still only half hard. Dean sighed into his mouth and pulled back. His hand moved to pet Sam's hip restlessly and Dean seemed to be mesmerized by the skin he was touching.

Sam watched as he sat back. "Dean?" His voice was worried and Dean just nodded, like he knew everything in the world. Sam felt the first ping of anger run through him.

When Dean finally looked him in the eyes again Sam was surprised by the sadness he saw there. "Why are you doing this, Sammy?"

"It's my birthday present, you asked what I wanted..."

"You don't want this."

"Don't tell me what I..." Sam broke off and gasped when Dean grabbed his cock, painfully, then he arched into Dean's hand and barely heard his brother say, "You're not even hard."

Sam smirked and Dean opened his fist, letting him go down again. "You're hard for me, not for this." He waved his hand at the rope. "I knew, but I needed to be sure. So don't lie to me, just tell me why you asked for this."

It was amazing how his brother always wanted to talk, when the subject wasn't him directly. Sam let that thought fuel his anger so he wouldn't start panicking all over again. "I guess we're not all as okay with fucking our brothers as you are."

Dean flinched and his eyes went wide and the next moment there was a cold blade against Sam's wrist as he was being set free. He wanted to bite his own tongue off. Dean was nothing if not madly loyal, and if he thought he was forcing Sam into something he would... pick up his jacket and run.

Sam had longer legs though, he caught up with Dean in time to snap the door closed and press Dean against it. Dean was shaking all over and wiggling to get away but really, he was barely even trying. Sam felt his wild breaths against his collar bone. "That's not what I meant, Dean, that's not it."

He was naked, Dean's everything scratched against his skin, and he just pulled him tighter, hoping to get marks he would never be rid of. "I want you, you know I do, you're there with me every time I do, but I know I'm _not supposed to_ , okay? I know."

"Like I don't?" Dean pushed away and leaned against the door, but he wasn't running away any more so Sam let him. "You think I don't know how fucked up this is? You're my baby brother. I changed your fucking diapers."

Sam cringed. "No, you didn't."

"Well, no, I didn't, but I watched as Dad did it and threw away the garbage." He rubbed his lip. "Trust me, I know how fucked up this is. But I thought we were in it together."

"We are." Dean looked away and Sam touched his face to get him to look back. "We _are_ , but I can never breathe, Dean. I keep thinking God, or Castiel or someone will walk in and smite us and send us straight back to hell."

"They don't care."

"You don't know that. I have demon blood in me, I'm as fucked up as it gets."

"So what's wrong with me?"

"I don't know, maybe it's something I do..."

Dean laughed. "Are we back to me being the poor little seduced victim in this? You have magical powers that make me do whatever you want?"

"Well, obviously not, or we wouldn't even be here."

Dean frowned and Sam did bite his tongue this time, but it was too late. It was out and Sam could see Dean's wheels turning, questions popping up and Dean picking out the one he wanted to ask the most. Sam swallowed. Stupid honesty.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, Dean, I just meant..."

"Don't lie. For once, Sammy, don't fucking lie." There was bitterness in Dean's voice that Sam hadn't heard in a long time and he knew he had to give Dean something, he just wasn't sure how much he could say, before he would be forced to name his choice.

"I'm gonna need some pants for this conversation." He turned to find his clothes and put them on, and he saw the bed, messed up with bits of rope lying around. It almost made him laugh. When he was done, Dean was still there, patiently waiting.

Sam sat on the bed. He didn't really know where to start, none of it was so relevant that he wanted something major to change, it was just things he wished he could have if everything was different. But it wasn't.

"I don't know where to start."

"How about where you would rather be?" Dean's voice was still pissed, like he expected Sam to say _anywhere but with you_ , or _back in Stanford_.

"In the cabin."

Dean faltered. "Where?"

"The cabin Bobby put us in when you were hurt. Not there, exactly, but some place like that."

"I was bored out of my mind."

Sam nodded. "I know."

Dean was calmer now. Maybe sad. Sam didn't want to look up to see. "What else would you change?"

Sam shrugged. "I wouldn't hunt as much. I think we did our part. Maybe something local sometimes, but mostly I'd want to not risk my life every week."

Dean wasn't saying anything anymore, but Sam stared at the tips of his boots and found a strange kind of comfort in it.

"I want you. I wish I didn't, because we're brothers, because I shouldn't. I wish we were both perfectly normal, but we're not and... I'm afraid what we're doing is so fucked up no one will ever forgive us." He thought of his parents, of Mary when she was young and in love and giving her life for him. He wondered if she still would.

The boots he was staring at moved, towards him, and he made sure not to flinch. When Dean sat next to him, he wanted to lean in and seek comfort. _Stupid._

"Yeah."

Sam couldn't believe he heard Dean say that and he finally looked up. He was right, Dean looked sad, no longer angry, just tired. "I never thought I'd want to be like everyone else, but you're right. It would be easier if we didn't want this." He paused and stared at his fingers. "But we do." Then he looked at Sam with huge eyes and so much hope. "Don't you think, if this was all fucked up, Castiel would come and tell us to stop? That we're digging ourselves back into the pit?"

Sam shrugged again. It wasn't like the thought never occurred to him. "Free choice, too much knowledge anyway, I don't know. We can't be sure."

Dean's hope fell and he nodded. "Yeah."

A few minutes passed in silence, Sam wished he could see inside Dean's head.

"Do you want to stop?"

"No." He didn't need to think about that. He asked himself the same question a million times. "I want to be with you. I just want us to find a way to not hate it."

Dean bit his lip, he understood. "You know, there are people who get off on this stuff."

"Yeah, I have an internet connection. Porn isn't real." He thought about what could make _them_ feel better. "We could just talk to Castiel and ask him."

"You do that."

Sam laughed. "We're pathetic."

"You're pathetic."

"Good comeback."

Dean's smile was tentative but beautiful, and Sam leaned in to kiss him. Shaky fingers touched his face right away and the kiss deepened, their tongues touching, before they broke off, breathing heavily into each other.

"I think," Sam started, then stopped to lick his lips and watch the way Dean's eyes lit up at it. "I think maybe we just need more time. We've barely been doing this for a few months and... we're still freaked out."

"You think?"

"I hope."

Dean was nodding again and Sam had to laugh. It was quiet and a little desperate, but it was laughter none the less.

"I don't want to stop hunting."

"I know," Sam rushed to say. "I know, it's not that important-" But Dean cut him off.

"It is important. We can... compromise? That's what people do in relationships, right?"

"Yeah."

"We can get a place, and see what happens. Maybe we can get a house in some really haunted town or something."

"Sounds great," Sam deadpanned.

" _Compromise_ , Sammy."

So he took a deep breath. "Sounds okay?" That earned him a punch in the arm. "We can try."

Dean nodded some more than slumped again, looking exhausted. "Fuck, that was a lot of sharing and caring. We need to do something manly now."

Sam thought about it for a second. "Gay sex?"

Dean scrunched up his nose but then tilted his head while he considered it. "Yeah, okay."

**

 **3 years later.  
**

Sam woke up when something heavy fell on him. He waved his arms around and tried to move from under it but then it started groping him. "Dean!"

"Hey, Sammy."

Dean's fingers grabbed his jaw and tilted his head up and then Dean's breath was on his face, searching, and Sam helped him. The kiss was familiar, warm and with a bit of an edge, like always after a hunt. Sam opened up and let Dean take what he needed, until he calmed down.

The collar of Dean's jacket poked his cheek and he reached out to tug it off, but Dean grabbed his hand and pulled it down, by his head.

"Need you," Dean said, his words a rough whisper, and Sam nodded without thinking. He dragged away the blanket that was between them and tugged his boxers down just as Dean unbuttoned his jeans.

He was still warm from sleep, his moves languid and uncoordinated, and he just spread his legs, felt Dean slip between them and smiled at his brother. Dean kissed him while he fumbled with the lube, he scraped his nipples with sharp teeth. He stretched him open, and Sam just moaned and arched and enjoyed. When Dean slipped the condom on, they both looked at each other, love and lust and need. Sam wrapped his legs around Dean's waist and felt him push in, just a bit too fast and too hard. He grabbed Dean's shoulder and moaned his name, and Dean pushed deeper.

The pace was quick, Dean's breath wet on Sam's chest as he bit and licked, bruises forming on Sam's skin, his clothes scratching against every part of Sam. He tried to wrap his hand around his own cock, but Dean pushed it away and started jerking him off himself. It was faster than his sleepy body was ready for and when his orgasm came it was from somewhere deep inside, making him lose his breath and shake all over. Dean stuttered his name and came just seconds later, digging his fingers into Sam's hips.

When he could breathe normally again, Dean pulled out, slowly, and Sam let himself be pampered as Dean cleaned him up and kissed him softly. When he slid under the covers, too, he pressed his face against Sam's neck. "We missed you."

Sam ran his fingers over Dean's head and nodded. When he couldn't make it, Dean hunted with Bobby and spent days after it complaining, mostly without a reason. "I'll come next time."

"You'll be late for work anyway."

"And whose fault is that?"

Dean huffed into his neck and Sam grinned. He had a job. While fixing computers didn't pay all that much, he was the only guy in town who had the patience to work with the elderly, and that had certain perks.

"Miss Brody paid me in pie again."

Dean smacked his lips. "I love that woman."

"I'm sure her husband appreciates that."

Dean mumbled noncommittally.

"Right. So, I talked to him today." Jack Brody was the local everything-man. He always knew who did what and what had to be done to get what you wanted.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He says the house is ours if we want it."

When Castiel first showed them the house, it was more run down than Bobby's. The roof was barely there and the stairs had rotted away decades ago. The very first time they saw it, it didn't even have any doors. By the second time, Castiel had fixed that, but nothing else. It was a _thank you_ and an _I accept you_ , and Sam and Dean both understood it and never brought it up again.

But it was Jack Brody who knew exactly which papers they had to pull (forge), to become the lawful owners. Dean grumbled a lot about it but didn't ever ask to leave, so Sam counted it as a win. The house belonged to someone, once, but now it was theirs. No ghosts, no violent deaths, just a family that had to move and never came back. All the neighbors lived just far away enough to not ask too many questions, but not so far away they felt alone in the world.

It was the ugliest, most run down perfect house for them.

"Hmm."

Sam tapped his fingers on Dean's head. "That's not an answer."

"I'm still hunting."

"I know you are, but you also have job, kind of."

"Hey! It's a proper job!" Dean lifted his head, probably to glare indignantly but it was too dark for Sam to see.

"You work three days a week fixing cars _that you like_ , and play poker the rest of the time. I don't really see a retirement plan there."

"That's what we have you for. You'll support me in my old age in the style I've become accustomed to."

"That, I will."

There was a long silence and Sam took a moment to enjoy how close Dean was. He had pressed his whole length against Sam and as he was falling asleep their bodies seemed to be melting into each other. The heat wasn't helping any. Sam laughed quietly. "You're a freak."

Dean grumbled and Sam shook him a bit to wake him back up. "What? What?"

"You're a freak."

"So are you."

Sam wasn't sure when exactly that stopped being a problem. Just, one day he woke up and kissed Dean, and didn't remember to think he shouldn't do that until two days later. He almost drove them off the road and Dean yelled at him, and then they had almost-sex in the back seat of the Impala for the first and only time. Sam limped for three days after.

"Are we gonna stay, though?"

Dean took a deep breath, then melted against Sam again. "Yeah. Let's stay"


End file.
